At the top of the sunken road, under the watchful eye of the church tower, I await my guests. I listen quietly and fascinated to their stories and store them in my rooms. I breathe in their dreams, their wishes, their secrets, and offer them a safe haven.
On beautiful summer evenings, the hazel tree whispers soft, warm warmth to them, and in winter, the fire crackles, connecting heartwarming conversations like pearls of connection. Teacups in the sun, laughing children in my garden, swaying flowers as silent witnesses, an open door.